


Hanahaki

by femmelesbian



Category: Kuroshitsuji : The Most Beautiful DEATH in the World - Iwasaki/Mori/Mari, Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: 1940's, Alternate Universe - Human, M/M, World War II, hanahaki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-29 15:51:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16267427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femmelesbian/pseuds/femmelesbian
Summary: Eric gets more flowers than he wanted after visiting the florists.





	Hanahaki

**Author's Note:**

> Hanahaki- A fictional disease in which the victim coughs up flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love.

**Castle Combe, England, August 1943**

Eric had been coughing up flowers ever since that boy started working at the florist opposite his house.

It's not too bad, to be fair- more like a mild wintertime cold. He can control it, but every so often, he coughs, and then there's a flower in his hand.

Never really the same flowers, mind, they do tend to change. Eric doesn't really know enough about flowers to know which flowers they are, but he  _does_ know enough about people to know that maybe coughing up a bouquet isn't normal.

But, he can't help but wonder.

And wondering is how he finds himself pushing the door open, the little bell ringing, and the very same devastatingly gorgeous man looks up from behind the counter, a little shocked, and then he smiles at him, and dear  _lord_ , Eric feels like he might pass out from having to cough so bad.

The man grins at him as Eric walks in front of the counter, his head in his hand on the desk, "Sweet?" He asks, handing Eric a brown paper bag. Eric takes one, slightly taken aback, "What'cha looking for?"

Eric smiles back at him, composing himself, "I wasn't really looking for anything- I was wondering, really- there's a language of flowers, isn't there?"

Alan smirks, tapping his fingers on the counter, and Eric can't tell if he's taking the piss or if he just always acts that way, "There is." He says, putting another sweet in his mouth.

Eric feels very slightly embarrassed, and he doesn't know why, "Well, you don't think you could help me out with that, could you?"

The man raises his eyebrows a little, still smirking, and if he doesn't stop soon he's gonna have a lot more flowers than he did before Eric came in, "Is it a girl? Because I can just whip you up a bouquet if it's a girl."

"No, it's not, I'm just... interested." Eric mentally kicks himself- that didn't sound  _remotely_ good.

The man looks up at him, "I've got a book somewhere," He says, disappearing underneath the counter, only to reappear suddenly, smiling again, "Alan, by the way."

Eric can't help but smile a little at attitude, "Eric," He replies, "You're not from around here, right?"

Alan shakes his head, "I just came over from London." He answers.

Eric smirks, feeling Alan rub off on him, "You can tell." Alan holds back a laugh as he disappears under the counter again, looking for that book, "It's alright, I only got back here last month."

Alan raises an eyebrow, "How come?" He puts his hand against his mouth suddenly, "Sorry, I shouldn't-"

Eric waves a hand dismissively, "Don't worry yourself- Bullet to the chest, got sent home," Eric cocks his head a little, "What about you, anyway? You look about the right age to be off fighting."

Alan laughs, "I handed them my sign up and they actually laughed at me," He says, coming back up from the counter, "I have heart problems, but like, not the Hollywood type. Here's your book." He pushes it across the table, "Anything else?"

"No th-"

"Trick question," Alan says cheekily, leaning over and tucking some sweetbrier in Eric's breast pocket, "You've got homework now."

Eris smiles charmingly, "I'll have it done next time I see you."

He spends the rest of the day coughing up flowers, his heart swelling in his chest at the very memory of that conversation.

He gives a weak cough, a couple of petals falling past his lips, looking at the book Alan gave him for what kind of flowers he's hacking up this time-

_Narcissus- unrequited love_  
_Japanese camellia- Unpretending excellence_  
_Coreopsis- Always cheerful_  
_Hibiscus- Rare and delicate beauty_

Eric realises with a scowl that he's looking at Alan in flower form, and exactly the way he feels towards him.

Stupid bloody flowers.

~*~

Eric next sees Alan later that August.

He isn't  _trying_ to avoid him, but he does get the feeling that maybe it's for the better. He sees him  _around_ , sure- church, watering his vegetable garden- hell, he happened to look out his bedroom window when Alan was putting up his Anderson, and lord have mercy, he was coughing up peonies for hours.

But their next real encounter together is on the bridge over the river, on the way away from the village centre- swelteringly hot, as expected; all Eric planned on doing was getting to the doctors for a checkup, not even really thinking of anything as he strolled across the bridge, until the smell of pollen hits him, and he hears bicycle breaks screech to a halt in front of him, an all too familiar grin looking back at him.

"Well, hello, stranger!"

Just the sight of Alan grinning at him is enough to make Eric smile, but god, there's so much more than that, too- the sun behind him bringing out the shine in his black hair, his eyes creasing with his smiling, the  _huge_ amount of flowers in the front basket of his bicycle, petals drifting away in the wind, and the way he raises one lean, graceful arm to hold onto his boating hat, the sleeves short and showing how freckled he'd gotten already from being out in the sun, "How's the flowers coming along? Did your girl like them?"

Eric smiles, rolling his eyes, "I told you, there's no girl."

Alan tuts playfully, and Eric's throat tickles, "Well, then your flower knowledge is going to waste!" He teases, "Come here, you're looking a little plain," Alan picks a flower at random from his bike basket, tucking it into Eric's breast pocket again, "Go on, then, prove you've been working."

Eric laughs a little, "Pink carnation, a woman or mother's love."

That's not one that he's ever seen in his bathroom sink.

Alan smirks again, the freckles around his eyes creasing, "That should help you a spot," He says, "Did the book help?"

"Oh, plenty," Eric replies, "Thank you for that."

Alan smiles, shrugging, "Don't worry about it," He insists, "Oh, I must be holding you up- I'll see you around, yeah?"

Eric smiles, watching Alan cycle away, "Count on it!"

He hears Alan shout a distant 'bye', precariously cycling one handed to wave, and Eric genuinely starts to feel breathless from having to cough so badly.

This man was going to ruin his life, and Eric might just let him.

~*~

In early September, Eric knows that Alan's sick far before anyone else does.

He wants to do something-  _anything_ \- to help, even just come into the shop to check he's okay, but even still, he knows that's strange of him, and it's not like he can explain that the marigolds and anemone that are taking over his lungs told him that Alan's having a hard time.

He hasn't seen the curtains so much as  _twitch_ since when he'd seen him that summer, which really isn't fair when he thinks about the amount of flowers Eric's had to not only heave up, but  _also_ pull out his sink- he knows it's childish, that it's immature, and that it's not fair of him, but a crush is  _not_  a force to be reckoned with in any circumstance.

And yet here he is, reckoning away with himself, staring at this loaf of fresh bread he's just made, almost on the verge of tears because he's  _so damn conflicted._

_Just take it to him. He's sick, dammit, he needs it._

Eric swallows tears, and what feels like a little more.

He knows full well he's not going to like what he sees.

He gives an almighty sigh, more of those damn petals fluttering to the floor, and gives himself a mental kick.

_Take the man some damn bread._

He crosses the street, knowing damn well that he shouldn't be our during blackout hours, knocking on the door.

No answer.

Eric frowns, looking at the window boxes. The flowers are wilting.

"The bloody hell are you doing out here at this time, son?"

Eric looks up, smiling at his neighbour, "Didn't mean to scare you, Mrs. Reyes. Is Alan in?"

She shakes her head, in some kind disbelief, "Of course not, you silly boy, he's back in London for a bit- he's not been w..." She must see the look on Eric's face, because hers drops in the same way, "He didn't tell you, did he?"

Eric swallows, inhaling, "Well. We weren't that close." He says, blinking, "Thank you."

"If it makes you feel better," Mrs. Reyes calls as he walks away, "He only ever told Sutcliff down at the bakery, and you know how she is... he didn't mean to cause you any harm."

Eric smiles, nodding, more for himself than anyone else, "Of course, it's personal, isn't it?" He says, "Don't worry about it, Jen."

He hears a distant "Take care of yourself, son" as he walks back to the house, and he practically sprints to his bathroom, heaving up anemone and marigolds, his eyes streaming and throat burning.

He sighs, gaining his breath again, looking at Alan's book. He'd left it by the mirror, with the same sheet of paper in it.

_Anemone- forsaken, sickness_

_Marigold- pain and grief_

He stares at the flowers for a moment, shaking his head slightly. No point trying to change the unchangeable, in trying to-

_Wait._

Eric flips urgently through his book, eyes searching for the meaning-

_Yellow rose- Friendship_

Well, it's nice for his eyes to be welling up for a reason other than choking on flowers.

Alan thinks of him as a  _friend_.

~*~

Alan's still not back by the end of the month.

It's gotten to the point where the postman just says, "Nothing from London," as he walks past Eric's house, which is starting to feel more and more like a taunt with every day.

That is, until, there  _is_ something from London.

"Your lucky day, son." The postman says, and his tone grates agains Eric's ears.

Eric takes it inside, already mindlessly tearing open the envelope, but  _wait._

What's he gonna find in there?

Why did it take so long for him to write?

Is it good news?

 _Can_ it be good news?

Eric closes his eyes, unfolding the letter. For gods  _sake_ , you fight a war and get shot in the chest, but what a 5'4 man with heart problems miles away from you has to say to you is enough to make you cough up flowers.

_Eric,_

_I don't know when this is going to arrive, so sorry from Alan from the 7th of September if it's late._

_Unreliable postal services aside, I'm so sorry that I didn't tell you that I was leaving. Of course, it's not forever, but you still deserve to know._

_Well, I take that back, actually. I'm really not doing so well these days, but I've said that before and come out the other side brighter, so I'm not too worried. But, I will be here a while- my mum insisted that I came home when I was having problems, and she's really not a woman to be disagreed with._

_I won't bore you with the details, because I'm sure you have better things to worry about, but I didn't want you to think I purposefully left you in the dark. I know I haven't known you long, but I really do enjoy and appreciate your company._

_Don't worry, I should be back by the end of September if everything goes to plan._

_Yours,_  
_Alan_

Eric stares at it a while longer- it all seems fine right up until that last line.

He shakes his head, ignoring his intuition. He'll probably be back soon, it's only just October- he might even be on the train now, you never know.

Eric forces himself to take comfort in that thought, but he's still got that same horrible gut feeling he's made for the past few days.

~*~

The next morning, it doesn't matter what flower Eric coughs up.

He just looks at the wilted petals in his lap, and he just  _knows_.

No book, no notes, no Alan to tell him.

He can figure this one out for himself.


End file.
